Different
by Mad Hatter Usagi
Summary: Gilbert has been beaten and excluded all his life for looking different. Elizabeta fell in love with him early on, but the two of them have their share of falling outs. This is the story of her watching the boy with platinum blonde hair and ruby red eyes. PruHun, T for cursing and themes, OOC.


I've known Gilbert Bielschmidt almost all my life, and most of this town has too. It was a simple fact of life in this town that if you were born here, everyone knew you. Everyone knew your GPA, your likes, your dislikes, your home life, how athletic you are, and most every other tidbit about you. If there was something someone didn't like, they were usually nosy enough to butt in. That's how life usually is around here.

But not with Gilbert.

I first met him in my Kindergarten class. He was a cute little boy who sat next to me at the tables. He had platinum blonde hair that was messy and ruby red eyes that looked so teasing and playful. He had recently had a bath and had new clothes on. He smiled at me and talked to me and was happy the very first day of school, unlike many kids who were crying about leaving their parents.

On the second day of school though, it was different. He looked like someone had dragged him through mud, and he had obviously been beaten pretty badly. He had a black eye, bruises, and cuts all over him. His hair looked like some had been pulled out. His eyes looked sad, but hopeful. He looked happy to be at school. It was very different from the other kids. They didn't like him. I did though. I held his hand and talked to him. I played with him on the playground when no one else would. I was his only friend.

One day though, some boys teased me about us playing together. They said it was sad I had such an awful boyfriend. They played little tricks on me. They laughed when we held hands. It was stupid school yard teasing. Yet I let it get to me. I felt embarrassed to be near him, and he noticed. So, one day he didn't take my hand when I offered it to him. He didn't look at me either.

"You should go play with the normal kids," he said.

I felt bad, but I ran the other direction and played tag with the other students. I hung out with the other kids instead of him. I left him alone under the tree by the fence. I shouldn't have. I should have stayed with the pitiful excuse for a little boy. I should have played with the boy with the demonic eyes I found so entrancing. But I didn't.

One day, when we all went out to recess, Gilbert didn't look at any of the other kids with pleading eyes, as if he was begging them to play like he usually did. Gilbert walked over to the tree where I had left him. He walked behind that tree to where the chainlink fence was and gripped it in his little hands. The boy with the platinum hair climbed the fence without any teacher seeing him and landed on the sidewalk next to the road on the other side. Gilbert looked both ways and waited for a car to come, but he was snatched back when he was about to step out in front of a car.

He was yelled at by the teachers in front of everyone. The other kids laughed at him, and I did too because I wanted to fit in. They yelled loudly, asking him questions like "What were you thinking?", "Don't you realize that if you get run over, you'll die?", and "What would your parents say if you had been run over?"

He was quiet for a while and was looking at the ground, taking all of the criticism. After they had gone silent, he looked up at them with serious eyes I had only seen on adults and spoke in an even tone. "I was thinking that getting hit would be okay. I do know getting run over will kill me. My parents would say 'good riddance'." He then walked back inside, leaving the children laughing and the teachers staring in awe. I didn't know what he had meant.

Halfway through the year, at parent-teacher conferences, Gilbert came with his parents. His mother had brown hair and brown eyes, she looked a bit messy and disshelved, and she was pregnant. His father had long messy blonde hair that was slicked back and greasy, light blue eyes, and a serious look about him. Gilbert was limping, he looked really really hurt, and his arm was hanging out of it's socket. He entered the classroom with his parents, looking at the ground.

My mother knelt next to me, my father had to work that day, and she whispered to me, "What's that little boy's name?"

"Gilbert Bielschmidt. Why?"

"I don't want you playing with that little boy. Never go over to his house either," She spoke so seriously.

"Why? Gilbert is different, but what's so bad about him?"

"You'll know when you get older, dear," She said simply and stood back up. My mother took my hand and led me out of school.

Years later, in sixth grade, I did understand what my mother meant. I understood why no one like GIlbert, or his parents. I understood why people liked his brother. I understood why Gilbert was always hurt. I understood everything about why he was shunned. I hated why. But I understood and steered clear.

No one butted in like usual because Gilbert's parents were drug dealers and his father was on parole. They each had anger management issues and took all of the stress out on Gilbert. It was because he didn't look like either of him with his albino platinum hair and red eyes. His eyes scared them, and they hated that. They called him a demon and beat him.

His brother though, had blonde hair and blue eyes like their father, so Ludwig would never be hurt. He was the perfect, smart, orderly child that everyone loved. The compared the older and younger brother constantly. The two of them weren't allowed to speak to each other, in fact, Gilbert wasn't allowed to speak at all at home.

In sixth grade, since I understood what was going on in Gilbert's life, I tried to make ammends. On the first day of school, when I said hello, he stared at me blankly. He then shook his head and pushed past me, trying to get to his locker. I grabbed his arm and smiled brightly.

"Gilbert! Let's be friends this year, okay?"

"No," his voice was hoarse and sounded like it hurt to talk.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need friends," he said. It was a painful thing for a child to say.

"But don't you want any?"

"No. I don't need or want any friends. Plus, I bet your parents don't want you talking to me," he looked back at my shocked face and laughed.

All I could think of was _'He knew. HE KNEW. He knew what everyone in town thought about his family. He knew that he was never going to be saved from his daily hell, and he had accepted it. He thought we were all scum.'_

"You aren't better than everyone else you know. You're worse! You're ugly with your stupid hair and creepy eyes! You're stupid, 'cuz you can't pay attention in class! You're hated by everyone! No one will love you!" I knew I had gone too far, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to see a shocked, hurt look on his face like the one he had seen on me.

Instead, he laughed. He smiled at me, and I mean a real smile. "I know! I've known all my life." He walked away and went about his day like nothing was wrong. I had run to the girls bathroom and I had cried for a half an hour. I couldn't believe that this boy had all of those insults ingrained into his mind.

In our senior year of high school, Gilbert had a pair of friends named Antonio and Francis. They hadn't asked him to be. They had wormed their way into his daily life and slowly changed the sad boy I had known all my life into a boy who laughed and pranked and fought. They changed him into a person who was unknown to me. But I would see that sad boy poke out all the time.

Gilbert was still being abused at home, although he had become strong enough so he could stop it if he wanted to. When I passed his house going to the bus stop, I heard screaming and crashing and little whimpers. It made me want to cry. At school, he didn't hide his bruises, he hid his arms. He would wear long sleeve shirts and hoodies all the time, no matter how hot it was.

One day, a teacher got upset with him for it. She said it was ridiculous to wear a sweatshirt in the hot weather and made him take it off so that she wouldn't get in trouble if he got heat stroke. Gilbert looked troubled and took it off. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt under it, showing his arms now. Burn marks and cuts dotted his arms. They were obviously self-inflicted. Instantly, the teacher turned on Antonio and Francis who were silent along with the rest of us. But they weren't staring at his arms. They were staring at their freind's face.

"Did you two boys know about this destructive behavior?" She squeaked, unnerved by Gilbert's arms. The two of them were silent, "WELL DID YOU?!" She was really upset, and I understood why. His arms were gruesome.

"Yes." They both answered quietly.

The room swivled and stared at them. I did too, I couldn't believe that Gilbert's two friends hadn't tried to convince him to stop. I was shaking, terrified for the boy I had met in Kindergarden. The two of them were looking at their desks, looking upset.

"Why didn't you report this?" She asked, her voice tight.

Suddenly, Francis scowled and stood quickly. He glared at the teacher and the rest of the room, "Would it make any fucking difference? Even if he stops, he's gonna go home and his dad's going to beat him! You all know that's what's happening, but you don't give a shit!"

"Either way, Gil's gonna hurt! You just don't want him to do it! It's none of your business anyway, it's ours. We've done more for him than you have, because he's our friend! You all are hypocrites and are fucking stupid!" Antonio yelled.

Both of them looked like they had been holding it in for a long time. They were right though. Absolutely right. No one was really going to help Gil like they did. They've made the sad little boy smile at jokes. They've helped his grades. They've let him sleep over at their houses whenever they could so that he wouldn't be beaten as much. They were his protectors. But they still couldn't reach him completely.

Gilbert grabbed his sweatshirt and put it back on. He stood and walked out of the class, out of the school building, off campus. He was gone and he had left with such a blank face. Francis and Antonio looked anxiously at each other, then stood to go.

"If you two leave too, I'll get the police to come bring you back. There's no point in going after that boy anyway, he has nowhere to go," the teacher said coldly.

The next day, Gilbert wasn't in school. Neither were Francis and Antonio. I thought it was strange, but didn't say anything. I thought that perhaps they had skipped school to go to the river or something. Until they announced over the loudspeaker some news I didn't completely expect.

"Students and faculty, we have some sad news. Last night, one of our students, Gilbert Bielschmidt, tried to take his own life. He is currently in intensive care in the local hospital. We send our thoughts out to the family and friends of Gilbert, and hope he gets better."

It was the standard way to announce such a thing. They didn't mean a thing they had said though. I understood why Francis and Antonio had looked so worried the day before. They had known that he would kill himself. They had known, but knew they wouldn't make it if she called the cops.

I stood up and walked out of class. It was the first time I had ever done something like that, but I knew where I was supposed to go. I left school grounds and rushed to the hospital. I met Francis and Antonio who were crying in the waiting room. They had blood on their shirts and they looked exhausted.

"Wh-what happened?" I asked.

"He always liked you, you know." Francis said, ignoring the question.

Antonio nodded in agreement, "Yeah, he always pushed you away because he thought that you'd be happier if you weren't teased for hanging out with him. He didn't want to be friends with us either, but we forced it because we hated how everyone else treated him..."

"Gilbert was so awesome when he wasn't around anything that reminded him of home..." Francis said, and the two of them began to sob again.

"How did he try to-?"

"He shot himself in the head with his dad's gun. He got brain surgery, and should wake up soon so they can see if it worked." Francis replied.

"Who's paying for this? Gilbert's family is poor and they don't like him."

"Francis and I are. We stole some money from our parents and are using every single bit of savings we have for college and stuff," Antonio replied.

"But don't you-"

"Gilbert is our best friend. He's much more important," Francis said seriously.

"But he doesn't get that! He's been so fucked up by everyone that he thinks that no one would care if he died," Antonio buried his face in his hands.

"We went straight to his house yesterday after school, and no one answered the door. We broke in and went to his room. He had used his dad's gun to blow a hole in his head...dammit Gil..." Francis began to sob.

I stood there shell-shocked. I didn't know what to say. He was the boy I had watched every day for the past decade. He was the boy I had fallen for on the first day of kindergarten. He was the boy I had deserted when he needed me. He was the boy I had wanted to stay with, but ended up hurting anyway. He was Gilbert Bielschmidt.

I fell to my knees and began to cry, tears rolled down my cheeks in waves and my shoulders rocked with each sob. I hugged myself to try to get myself to stop, but I just couldn't. It hurt to cry. My my chest hurt, my throat hurt, and my knees hurt from collapsing. I couldn't believe I had let myself break down, but I couldn't get up or move. I didn't have the resolve nor the energy.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in a seat next to Antonio. I could barely keep myself from slipping back to the floor. Gilbert's parents walked through the corridor menacingly, giving off the smell of booze and cigarettes. They looked thoroughly annoyed and angry as they pushed past the nurses into Gilbert's room. He was attatched to a bunch of machines and had an oxygen mask over his face. He had bandages all over his face, and only one eye was visible. His eyes looked dead and empty.

Francis, Antonio, and I watched as his mother leaned against the wall, staring boredly at her son. His father grabbed the front of Gilbert's hospital gown and pulled him up to eye level. There was a loud crack as his father hit him, then again and again.

"How dare you waste my bullets on your stupid suicide attempt? You're gonna make us pay for your bill too! Boy, when you get out of here..." His father snarled.

I trembled, I had never seen how his parents were to him. I had only ever seen a hurt boy trailing behind them. I couldn't bear to see them do this to him, so I ran forward and grabbed his father's arm to stop him from hurting him further. Francis and Antonio were frozen in place, looking a bit afraid.

"Who're you, 'nd what business do you have with me?" His father asked suspiciously.

"Don't hurt him!" I yelled.

Gilbert's father turned to Gilbert and smirked evilly, "Is this that girl I heard about in town? The girl who used to play with you? The girl who won't even look at you now?" He barked a laugh, "See you fucking retard, no one will ever love you. It's only pity. Pity don't last long."

Gilbert turned his head away and I saw complete hurt in his eye. I saw that those words had hit him harder than any of his father's blows ever had. It was past depression. It was complete despair and emptiness. I hated that look. It didn't belong on his face.

"Shut up!" I yelled at him.

His father turned, glaring menacingly at me. "What?"

"I don't hate him! I'm not afraid to look at him! I don't pity him...I love him. You are the most vile man alive, and deserve to be locked in a cell," I snarled.

"Hah! You little bitch..." He set down Gilbert, who was staring wide-eyed at me, and turned to me with a smirk on his face. Just before he was going to hit me, a police officer came in and told his parents to leave the premises. They left, but it was a slow leave with lots of cursing.

Gilbert was resettled into his bed, and the nurses allowed Francis, Antonio, and I to stay. I sat in a chair next to the bed silently while his two friends made him smile by telling him stories and jokes. I entered a daze as I stared at Gilbert's small, sad smile. I was snapped out of it hours later by Gilbert. The two guys had gone home for the day and the nurses weren't in the room.

"Get under the bed," he whispered.

"What?"

"If you want to stay longer, get under the bed. Visiting hours have been over for a while. The nurses are gonna kick you out on their next round. They'll reach my room soon, so get under the bed," he was looking at the clock instead of at me.

I nodded and slid under the bed just as a nurse walked in. She looked him over and smiled sweetly at him, "How are you, Gilbert?"

"Okay."

"Do you need a sleeping pill? You should probably get some rest," She suggested.

"No, I'm fine. I'll call you if I need anything though," he said politely.

The nurse smiled and left. As soon as the coast was clear, I slid out from under the bed and retook my seat. I reached out and took his hand, encasing it between my own. I unconsciously began to cry again.

He wiped away a tear and looked me in the eyes, "I'm sorry."

I stared at him speachlessly, my tears stopped. I had never known him to apologize.

"Did you really mean that stuff you said to my father earlier?"

"About me actually loving you? Yeah, I meant it."

"Why? How could you love someone as useless as me?"

"You aren't useless. You're nice, you're cool, you're funny, and you're handsome."

"What's so handsome about me? All my life I've been told I'm ugly and demonic," he looked at his lap, scowling as if disgusted by himself.

"Your eyes are so pretty, and your hair is so soft," I murmered as I stroked a stray piece of his hair.

"My eyes aren't anywhere near as pretty as yours, I love that green...and your hair is so much softer and perfect. You're the perfect size too. You're cute all over, I've always thought so," He stroked my cheek and smiled slightly.

I blushed at the compliment.

"You're the only girl that's ever cared about me. You were the first person to be nice to me too. I've always thought about you, about what you would think of me. I worried that you thought I was awful like the other people around here..."

"Francis and Antonio like you though. They care about you so much," I said, remembering how broken down the two boys were.

"But you're different. Because I love you."

"I love you too, Gilbert. I don't want you to be here, in this town, any longer though."

"You want me to leave you?" He asked, looking hurt.

"No! I want to be with you, but I can't stand seeing you being hurt all the time! I can't stand everyone ignoring it! Your friends are fine, in fact they're wonderful for caring, but they aren't enough compared to the rest of the people in this town. I want us to leave..."

"When?"

I blinked at him, a bit surprised he was going along with such a spur of the moment thought. "When you're better."

"Can we tell Francis and Toni?" He asked, looking to me for approval.

I nodded, "Sure, and they can come if they want."

He smiled at me, "Thanks, Eli."

"I'm just glad that we'll be getting away."

Three months later, Francis, Antonio, Gilbert, and I were settled into a rental house that was well away from the town we grew up in. Antonio and I went to high school to finish our last year, working part time jobs. Francis and Gilbert went to night school and worked full time at a mechanic. We were all happy with our arrangement, and relaxed because no one ridiculed Gilbert for the way he looked.


End file.
